Flies on the Butter

by Denise Hildreth Jones

  Abigail took her spoon and dipped it into the jar. Then she dropped a couple of her M&M’s on top of the scoop of peanut butter and began to eat from her spoon with obvious pleasure.

  It sure looked good to Rose. Abigail thrust the jar in Rose’s direction. Rose took a big, deep dip herself. They ate in silence for awhile. Too hard to talk with peanut butter in their mouths. Later, Rose attempted to speak through the stickiness. “Why are you here, Abigail?”

  Abigail cocked her head. Rose had the urge to smooth the spikes of hair still sticking up. “They say I have cancer again. Brought me here Monday, telling me I didn’t have much more than a week left.”

  The bite Rose had just put in her mouth seemed to grow three sizes. She stared at the precious lady in front of her and wondered how God could allow such terrible things to happen to her. Then again, He’d let them happen to Rose.

  Abigail must’ve seen the change in Rose’s expression, because she leaned in close and whispered, “But you know, I just keep feeling better and better every day.”

  Rose tried to defuse the situation. “I’m so sorry, Abigail, you’d just never know.”

  “I know. That’s what I keep trying to tell them.” She gave a dainty cough, covering her mouth with another tissue.

  Rose didn’t know what else to say. The feelings of fear and doubt and all of her demons returned with those words that brought just one more curse of death. As if everything in life wasn’t dead in her already. The people she loved. The parts of her heart that she used to treasure and guard. Her marriage.

  “You don’t have to get quiet, Red. If I’m not worried about it, you shouldn’t worry your pretty head about it.”

  Rose couldn’t help it; she had mastered the art of worrying. Why would she want to abandon something she had actually mastered? “How long have you had the . . . the . . . cancer?”

  “Oh, you can say it, Red. It’s called cancer . The big C. The curse of all curses. I had it awhile back. Then it went into remission, and now they say it has come back with a vengeance. But I’ll be honest with you, I don’t feel like there is a speck of it in this old body of mine.” She licked her latest whopping spoonful of peanut butter, oblivious to the fact that she could actually be dying right there before Rose’s eyes.

  Rose studied her. “Well, you sure look good.”

  Abigail nodded her head adamantly. “I think so too. For a dying woman, anyway.” She snickered.

  “How is your daughter handling everything?” Rose asked, not feeling so hungry now.

  “Oh, I have two girls, actually, and they are just little troupers.” Her “girls” were probably in their fifties or sixties. Rose realized that to this lady, they would always be her little girls. “They sneak me in home cooking every night. And stay here around the clock. I made them go home tonight. I told them I would keep them awake all night long singing if they didn’t leave. And, Red, if you heard me sing, you’d know that would terrorize anybody.”

  Rose watched her new friend. She wanted to enfold her tiny body into her arms and keep death at bay. But she just didn’t want to deal with any more heartache tonight. And she really needed to call Christopher. He would be beside himself with panic.

  Rose slid off the bed, her smile now faded to pity and pain. “Well, it was a pleasure sharing my vending snacks with you, Abigail.”

  “And it was a pleasure enjoying them.” The little lady grinned. Rose wasn’t sure whether they were her real teeth, but they looked good on her all the same.

  Rose turned and headed for the door. As she gripped the door handle, Abigail remarked to the softly lit room, “Sleep well, my sweet Rose. And remember, His mercies are new every morning. You’ve just got to stop running from and start running to.”

  Rose’s hand froze. And something entered the room that she hadn’t felt since she was a little girl and the Spirit had fallen inside that country church on Dixon Street, and for a moment every demon in hell had to stand back from the war they had been waging for Rose.

  23

  Rose couldn’t move. She couldn’t turn around, and she couldn’t leave. So she just stood there, gripping the handle as if it were her last great lifeline.

  “There was a man once, Rose,” Abigail continued softly. “A man who was crushed and hurt by the people he loved. In fact, his own brothers sold him and then went and told his dad he’d been killed. But if that wasn’t enough, things got worse. He was thrown into prison for something he didn’t do. Left in that prison, forgotten and alone. But there was something in him, Rose, that never allowed him to think that he was truly forgotten or truly alone. He always knew that somehow, some way, all the tragedy in his life, all the things that had been done wrong to him, the God of this universe, and the Creator of his very soul, would somehow make right.”

  Tears fell from Rose’s eyes. Just as they had done most of the day. And she was unable to do anything to stop them.

  “But one day, Rose, one day, the most powerful man in the nation heard about the man and brought him into his own world and made him the next man in charge. And do you know who eventually came to this former prisoner in their moment of need?”

  Rose figured this was a rhetorical question, and sure enough, Abigail didn’t wait for her to respond.

  “The very brothers who had sold him. And do you know what he did?”

  Rose’s tears were dripping on her nightgown.

  “He forgave them. That’s what he did, Rose; he forgave them. And then, Rose, when he had children . . .” Abigail paused.

  Rose gasped.

  “He named them Manasseh and Ephraim. I know, odd names for your boys. But do you know what those names mean, Rose? Manasseh means ‘the Lord has made me to forget.’ And Ephraim means ‘fruitful in the land of my affliction.’”

  Rose squinted her eyes shut, trying to stop the deluge.

  “I sure know that life brings tough roads. You know it too, I can tell. I’ve met people in these halls who are sick with all kinds of stuff, and some have as much money as God, and some don’t have a nickel to their names. I’ve learned that storms don’t care who you are, Rose. But I’ve learned something else—that the greatest fragrance comes out of a rose only when it has been crushed.”

  Everything in Rose wanted to run, but her body still wouldn’t obey.

  “You know the amazing thing about this man, Rose, is that his crushing made him great. But his forgiveness made him greater. And when he finally had those babies, Rose, he had forgotten the past and was finally able to see that his darkest torment had all been for the divine purpose. That tough places really can create amazing things.”

  Finally, Rose’s hand obeyed. With every last bit of control she possessed, she quietly opened the door, walked through, and shut it. And then she ran. She ran as hard as she could run, back to the room she had come from, not caring anymore about the slit in her nightgown. And after a few wrong turns and a few wrong rooms, very much like her life, she finally found hers and threw herself across the bed. She cried until she fell asleep. Never remembering missed e-mails or phone calls or responsibilities. But sleep offered her no different words than the ones she had just heard.

  A soft hand on her shoulder startled her. She bolted upright to see only the silhouette of a man whose face was unrecognizable because of the sun streaming so brilliantly through the open blinds of the window. For a moment Rose was certain she had finally made it to the bright light, and God had resorted to tapping people on the shoulders. Not such a different approach than the death angel’s. Then God spoke.

  “I’ve looked all over for you.”

  Well, that wasn’t exactly what she thought God’s first words to her would be, but she could certainly stay around to see where he was going next.

  “Rosey.” Hands took her by the shoulders.

  She decided not to correct him. Plus, God had a strong grip.

  Then he threw his arms around her. “I was so worried when the phone went dead.”

  “Chris
topher?” she whispered.

  “Who did you think it was?” he asked in her ear.

  “Well, after the last twenty-four hours I’ve had, I couldn’t be certain.”

  He leaned back and looked at her. She looked back at his familiar and loving face. The face of the one who always showed up to rescue her. She grabbed him and hugged him as tightly as she had ever hugged him before. Then she suddenly remembered her dining companion from the evening before.

  “Oh!” She pushed him back. “Sorry, but I’ve got to go see someone.” She grabbed the folds of her gown and took off like a streak, minus the streaking, and headed to the second floor.

  She heard Christopher following, but she couldn’t stop to explain.

  Rose burst into Abigail’s room. No one was there but a strikingly large black orderly who was emptying the trash can. Abigail’s bed was neatly made. Every sheet and blanket folded perfectly. All remnants of cups and M&M’s and chips were gone. The tray that had been by the bed had been moved to the corner of the room. Rose jerked open its drawer. It was empty.

  “Where is she?” Rose asked, terrified to hear the answer.

  “Well, she’s gone home, ma’am. She’s finally gone home.”

  Anger filled her. “I knew it!” she screamed at the orderly. “See, it’s morning! That’s what He always does! He says His mercies are new every morning, and all He does is let people die and leave us here to pick up the pieces!”

  The tall man looked at her calmly. She felt something inside of her begin to tremble. And the same feeling that had permeated her last night as Abigail spoke returned, magnified. “I think you might’ve misunderstood me, ma’am.” His words were firm. “Miss Abigail went to her home, home. Up the street here in Whiteville. Seems like all that cancer couldn’t be found on any of those tests she took yesterday. Not a trace. Can you believe that?” He shook his head slowly as he walked toward the door, where Christopher stood observing. “Not a trace.”

  Rose’s mouth came agape.

  As the orderly brushed past Christopher, he spoke again, remembering. “I sure hope she got that flower she was waiting for.”

  “What did you say about a flower?” Rose inquired.

  He turned around in the doorway. “Oh, she just said that she was certain she didn’t have any cancer but that she couldn’t leave until she got a rose she was waiting on. Said she had a dream that she was going to get a very important rose and that she couldn’t leave until it got here. I’m guessing it must have come yesterday.”

  And with that, he disappeared down the hall.

  Rose felt the entire weight of the last twenty-four hours force her to her knees. Christopher came to her side, knelt beside her on the cold tile floor. She should’ve known this moment had to happen. Because Christopher had told her years before, “Eventually everyone has to break, or they’ll simply live their lives broken.”

  “I’ve been so wrong, Christopher.” She stared out the window at the gray sky. “Everything, my hatred, my marriage, my lies . . . Oh, God, how could I have been so stupid?” She laid her head in her hands. Christopher took her in his arms, just the way he did when Christmas boxes littered the hallway.

  “I wanted to make it all her fault. I wanted to make everything her fault, and then I became just like her. And I’ve hated myself ! I’ve hated myself so much!” Her words exploded through her hands.

  “I know, Rosey, I know.” Christopher stroked her hair.

  “But I’ve been so wrong. And oh, God, all that I’ve done to Jack!” She raised her head, horrified by her actions. “All he did was love me. And I crushed him, Christopher. I crushed everything inside of him. And I did it mercilessly. I’ve hurt so many people. I’ve destroyed families! Here I am, the self-proclaimed advocate for children, who forgot to fight for her own. I am such a hypocrite, Christopher. I should have died in that wreck!” She pounded her chest.

  “You are dying, Rosey.” Christopher pulled her tighter and whispered into her ear. “You are dying. And you’ll never be the same.”

  “But I just want to go back, Christopher! I just want to go back home. Before I hurt anybody. Before anybody hurt me. To the way it used to be. When we were little, and Mamaw and Granddaddy were there, and Mama and Daddy loved each other.”

  Christopher’s tears began to fall at her words. “I know, Rosey. We all want to go back there. But we can’t, baby girl. We can’t go back. We can dream about it. Remember it. Talk about it. But we can’t go back, Rosey. We can only go forward. And that’s what you have to do. You have to go forward.”

  “But no one will be able to forgive the things I’ve done,” she said, laying her head in the curve of his arm.

  “People may not forgive, Rosey. But the One who truly forgives can and will. Don’t you remember all those years ago when you made Mamaw have mercy on me? You stepped in for my fault. You were my mediator. My advocate. That’s what has been done for you, Rosey. Your fault has been stepped into by the only one capable of redeeming.”

  And there on the floor of Abigail’s hospital room, Rose found the forgiveness she had so desperately longed for. The demons were quieted once and for all. And the Rose who had always desired to live, the one who wasn’t afraid—afraid to love, afraid to forgive, afraid to live—was the Rose who finally got up from the floor.

  Christopher supported her as they walked back to her hospital room. When they got there, Dr. Palmer was standing at the foot of her bed, looking over her chart.

  “Well, there you are, my little hospital traveler. How did you rest last night?”

  She gave him a bleary-eyed look.

  “I see.” He smiled apologetically. “Well, the last round of your tests came back normal, and I’m discharging you. You’re welcome to get dressed and have your brother here take you home. I trust you found your things in the closet?”

  Rose nodded. The word home held new meaning this time. “Thanks.”

  He closed her chart, gave her a smile, and started for the door.

  “But for the record”—she said, causing Dr. Palmer to stop—“you really do need to provide robes around here.” Rose looked meaningfully at her hand, which was still holding closed the gap in her gown.

  Dr. Palmer and Christopher laughed. “I’ll see what I can do about that,” Dr. Palmer said.

  “Oh, and there is one thing. You never answered my question. What did you say your first name is?”

  “I told you already. It’s Doctor.” He closed her door with a grin.

  24

  Rose asked Christopher to wait as she went into the restroom to change. She found her chocolate suit still neat and crisp beneath the tissue paper that she had wrapped it in for today’s occasion. She donned a baby blue silk camisole to wear with it, and a pair of brown boots.

  When she was finished dressing, Rose added a dainty brown beaded necklace and her diamond earrings. She tried to use her makeup to hide the dark circles from her long evening, then pulled her red hair back into a sleek ponytail. She replaced the bandage on her forehead with a tiny Band-Aid to hide the stitches. She studied herself in the mirror. Still tired looking, but the face that returned her gaze was finally one she recognized. A woman she had missed being and seeing.

  Christopher helped Rose collect her things, and they headed for his car. She still felt woozy, so she didn’t mind too much when a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound nurse named—yes, it was true—Bertha made it clear that Rose would ride in the wheelchair to the curb, whether she liked it or not.

  Christopher made a quick call to Charlotte while Bertha situated Rose in the car. “You made all of them pray?” she heard him ask with a laugh. “All twelve of Uncle Leonard’s grandchildren?”

  Rose smiled. She figured her wreck had accomplished at least a couple of good purposes. It had gotten both herself and Charlotte praying.

  “Have you heard any word on my car?” she asked as the sound of clicking seat belts filled the interior of Christopher’s new Volvo. He and his wife had purchas
ed it when they found out they were expecting their first child in the spring.

  “Despite the fact that it helped save your life? Yeah, I hear you’re going to need a new one.”

  “I had a feeling that would be the case. But at least I have clean underwear,” she said, laying her head back slowly, trying to keep the trees outside from spinning. “Wonder where my phone ended up?” She chuckled.

  “By the sound of the wreck, I would say it probably didn’t fare much better than your car.”

  “Do you know how many e-mails I’ve probably missed?” she said, laughing harder. “I’ve probably got senators screaming because they haven’t heard from me.” Her laughter was clearly contagious, as Christopher started as well. “And Helen . . .” She couldn’t stop now. “Whew . . .” She tried to regain her composure. It was useless. “Helen’s probably downed a quart of vodka and a bottle of Valium.”

  That did it for both of them. “Hey,” sputtered Rose, holding her side. “Watch where you’re going.”

  “Yeah.” He pulled himself together. “Don’t need another wreck.”

  “Ow,” she said, touching her head. “Who knew laughing could hurt your head?”

  That made them start all over again. By the time they finally got control of themselves, they were turning onto Main Street in the small city of Mullins. They drove past at least three flower shops, the B. C. Moore’s that had been there for at least a hundred years, Anderson Brothers Bank, and Aunt Norma’s Alteration Shop. She smiled.

  “Are you ready for what’s ahead, Rosey?” Christopher asked, subduing any lingering humor.

  “Are you talking about seeing Mother, or seeing Mamaw?”

  “Both, I guess.”

  “Yes and yes. I think I’ve come to terms with everything that’s happened.”

  Christopher turned toward Rose. “Do you want to call Jack?”

  She sighed, trying to process all her thoughts. “No, not yet. I have no idea what I would say. I might better take one thing at a time.” She pulled down the visor and opened the mirror to check her bandage. “But would you mind if we just went somewhere first and got something to eat? I’m starving.”